Dead World
by Antikat
Summary: The first person story of a man awakening to find all he loves is gone, and is now replaced by the most horrific creatures born upon this world.


**Dead World**

Creeping into my mind, I can feel the insanity taking a firm grip on my consciousness. If only I could express my last thoughts to someone, to a single person, then maybe my passing would become easier. As it stands, I am alone in a small room barricaded by a wooden chair and a few rusty buckets. But these objects cannot protect me forever, and if they were to give way I would surely die a gruesome death.

The things outside the room are screeching, such horrid sounds they echo unto my head. I call them things because I have no other words to describe them, merely things. Humans they used to be, but what they now are is something entirely different, something so decrepit it makes me want to end it now in hopes of avoiding their hellish fate.

To become one of them is my worst fear, for if I were to somehow retain my mind when it occurred, I would not be able to bear being locked in the cruel game God has so hatefully condemned us to play. But wondering of these things is only a diversion, for deep inside myself I know today is the day I die, either by my own hands or at the hands of the monsters, which I must avoid at all costs. To take my own life would give me such greater relief than to mercilessly be devoured by what used to be my family, my friends, they are all gone, now entombed in the bodies of demons straight from Hell itself.

It appears that God has fallen, and that Satan had finally gained the power he has forever worked for, the power to destroy humanity. As I sit here, I am plagued with thoughts of my past life, the joys that I once relished in, the simple enjoyment of watching my daughter sleep, listening to my wife sing as she prepared breakfast for us, the mere content I shared with her just to be alive. But now that content is replaced with contempt, contempt for the God I was raised to believe in, the God I had worshipped for so many years. Where is he now? Now he is not to be found, for exist he does not.

I awoke today to the sound of my daughter screaming, screams I had hoped to never hear. The sounds of death rang from her lungs, and I was at a loss of breath for the brief moment when I first entered her room. I almost collapsed right there, but I braved through it in order to help her.

Her skin was a pale gray, some of it rotting from her flesh. She continued to cry as I picked her up from her bed, and I somehow managed to block it out as I assessed her condition. She was feverish, clammy, and it felt as if I were holding a warm, wet sponge, but I uttered into her ear reassurances that all would be fine anyway. I knew then that something was terribly wrong, only I had no idea as to the true depth of the problem.

When I took my child to my wife, that is when I discovered that the dilemma ran much deeper than I had originally thought. My wife was as sick as my daughter, if not worse. More of her skin was decomposing, and huge blisters had formed across her entire body.

When I went to wake her, she did not respond. That was when my heart sank to the deepest of lows, I knew at that very moment that my life was over. Without her I was nothing, and if my offspring was going through the same thing, then soon I would be alone in the world, with the last memories of my life those of death and disease. I set my young girl on the floor as I went to look at my spouse, but it was all in vain, a small attempt to shatter lost hopes.

But no matter how much logic told me that she was gone, my heart just couldn't bear to let her go. I checked her pulse, performed CPR, and artificially breathed for her for almost an hour. I became tired, exhausted by my exertion of trying to resuscitate my dead wife. When I had finally come to see reason, I remembered my daughter.

Fear and panic rushed through my veins as I turned around to face her. She was on the floor, unmoving, lifeless. I attempted to save her as I did my wife, for she was the last thing on this planet that I had. To no avail I tried to bring her back to life, with no result except for the throbbing pain of loss and failure.

My wife and daughter were dead, right before my eyes, and there was nothing that I could do to save them. Lying there, I cried. And I cried for I don't know how long, possibly hours. I just sat there, crying, grieving for the death of my family. I probably began to lose my sanity right then, but I didn't know it.

Suddenly, movement from behind me could be heard. I dismissed it as hallucinations, but when it continued I became curious. When I turned around, the first thing I remember is my mind going blank. For what seemed forever, I could think of nothing. All I saw was a sheet of white, total nothing. Then my eyes focused, as did my mind. I saw what I saw, and I could not explain it.

My wife had gotten out of the bed and was walking. More of a stumbling shuffle than a walk, although it doesn't really matter. I jumped to my feet at once, not quite as relieved as in shock. But my happiness was ended abruptly when I saw that behind her once beautiful eyes was nothing, only sunken orbs of chalky white. I knew immediately that this was not my wife, but something that I could not approach.

Backing away from her, I stumbled upon my child, now also standing, with the same lifeless expression. When I fell, she attacked me and tried to gouge my throat with her cold, dead hands. She did not succeed as I held her back with my foot, but when she tried to bite my ankle I jumped up and ran to the balcony of the two-story house.

Shutting the doors saved me for the moment, as they could only rattle the sliding glass panes trying to get at me. I placed a chair that had been left outside for the night against the handle, and it seemed to be an effective safeguard. I stood there, thinking about what to do next, when I glanced at my car down below in the asphalt driveway.

The idea of escaping to somewhere safe flooded my mind at that moment, and the first place I thought of was the hardware store. I knew the owner of the store, we were good friends, and if anyone would help me it would be him. So I searched for a way down, a way to get to my car.

There was nothing, and my only escape was to hang from the balcony and drop. It appeared to be a long drop from where I was standing, but I knew that it always seemed higher than it actually was when you looked down. Upon landing, I had sprained my ankle as I look back, but then my adrenaline was too high for me to notice or care.

I entered my car, tried to turn the ignition, but realized my keys were not with me. I wasn't about to risk my life going back inside the house, so I locked the doors and planned my next move, which would have to commence on foot. I thought of a dozen things, but the best and easiest seemed to be to go to my neighbors' house and plead for help.

I hated them, and they hated me, but I knew that they were at least humane, so I was hopeful that they would assist me in my time of crisis. I approached the house with caution; I knew that they had a dog, a Doberman trained to hate everything. But this time there was nothing to be heard.

When I reached the house I saw why, the dog was gutted and lying on the porch steps. As I got closer, I saw that it had not been gutted, but rather eaten, stripped of most of its flesh and organs. The sight sickened me, and thoughts of my family flashed into my head. I became dizzy for a few moments, but the feeling passed as I walked up the walk and to the door.

I rang the doorbell a few times, followed by some knocking, although knowing there would be no answer. I somehow knew that they were in the same condition as my wife and child, but yet I did not heed my own warnings and entered the house anyway.

The reek of rotting meat flooded my senses the instant I opened the door, and the dizziness returned briefly, long enough for me to sit down on the old couch in the corner. The sofa was old, ragged, with cigarette burns and stains I cared not to think about.

When I felt well, or as well as I suppose anyone in my position can be, I arose and called out for someone to answer. My voice echoed through the house and the silence that followed told me to turn around and leave, but I stayed against my subconscious objections. I called out as I wandered from room to room, through the kitchen, past the garden and the small shed of supplies, and up the stairs. Creaking as I went, they seemed ready to give at any second, just waiting for the most inopportune time. Lucky I guess I was, because they didn't break, and I reached the second floor without mishap.

There were only three rooms on this floor, two on the left and one at the end of the hall. I guessed that the one at the end of the hall was the master bedroom, and that the two on the side were a closet and a bathroom. I checked both, and I was correct, with the first being the closet. Inside I had hoped to find something of use, only to be disappointed as there were only shoes and empty boxes. The bathroom held the same disappointment, although I hadn't expected to see anything of interest in there anyway. The last room, the bedroom, was my last stop. Anxious I was, nervous of what was inside I slowly opened the door.

The first sight to assault my eyes was that of corpses, rotting in every aspect of the word and devoid of any signs of life other than movement. In the corner I noticed that they were feeding, feasting on something unlucky enough to be smaller than they were. Hearing the sound of the door opening, they turned around to face whatever had dared enter their territory, whatever had been stupid enough to make its presence known.

They all stood, faster than my wife and daughter, faster and not nearly as awkward or clumsy. They ran towards me, and I saw that the thing they had been eating was a small child. The boy had been almost entirely devoured, the only recognizable part being his skull.

I sprinted, as fast as I could, taking the stairs, trying to put as much distance between them and me as possible. Jumping the steps three at a time, I reached the bottom as they had begun their descent of the staircase. They were much faster than I had thought, and were at the bottom before I was out of the room. I rushed to the garden shed, hoping for a safe haven from them.

Upon entering the shed I shut the door, propped a small chair up against it, and found some buckets and other miscellaneous objects to place in front of it as a barricade. I sat in the far corner and prayed that they couldn't get in, that maybe they weren't able to open doors or strong enough to break the barricade. Pounding and clawing at the door my hopes were shattered in an instant, I imagined that my death would soon fall upon me.

But after a few moments it stopped, silence replacing the noise; mysteriously, miraculous, for by some reason, they had stopped. I sat there and listened for some time, but I couldn't hear anything outside the room. Nothing seemed to be out there. All action had died.

The pounding has begun once again, the door is giving way, I can hear it. The wood cracking, splintering, it is only a matter of time before they break through, and God only knows what is to become of me if they do. I pray now, please give me a way to take my own life, for the eternity of suffering that I will endure if I am to transform into one of them will be unbearable. Please God, I beg of you, end my life now so that I may at least burn in hell, a fate far better than an eternity of undead, I beg of you. And if not my soul you will reprieve of this insanity, I ask that you provide some way out of this, some escape from the monsters.

I can hear them, snarling, growling. Screeching at their success, the door is almost gone, the chair is folding, the buckets lie toppled. In a moment my life will flash by in an instant, only to be replaced with the malicious image of my own entrails being ripped form my abdomen.

Can you hear them? Like the laughter of children. My life so fleeting. I wish only to depart this world with one happy memory, a memory of my daughter, my sweet lovely daughter, for whom the angels sing.

**copyright **©** 2004**, Antikat

All rights reserved


End file.
